The Adventure of Rosie
by rhapsodybree
Summary: With John back at 221B Baker St where he belongs, Sherlock adjusts to finding traces of Rosie in all aspects of his life. A series of inter-related heartwarming one shots.
1. Lego

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

Eyes intent on the mutilated body before him, Sherlock reached into his pocket for his magnifying glass.

Bringing it forth, he blinked as he looked at the little yellow plastic figurine held between his fingers: his eyes swiftly took in the anatomically incorrect body holding something resembling a stick, attired in a white painted dress and outrageous double bun hair.

It took him a moment longer than it should have to realise that this was not the device that he was after. Slipping it back into his pocket, he found his magnifying glass and leaned down for a closer look at the murder victim's left eyeball.

If John was looking, he would have made a comment about hanging up his coat instead of throwing it on the nearest surface where a child could reach it.

But John wasn't looking, and the game was afoot!

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Gruffalo.


	2. Gruffalo

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

"Does your one snore?"

"No," laughed John coming up behind Sherlock, "but he does hog the covers."

"I do no such thing!"

John raised an eyebrow. "Who was it that fell asleep during _The Gruffalo_ last night?"

Sherlock muttered darkly as Rosie giggled from her position on her father's hip.

The person behind the desk smothered a smile as he handed over the key. "That's Room 204, second floor and to the right."

John took it with a grin. "Thank you very much."

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Stair gate.


	3. Stair gate

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

Sherlock smirked into his phone as he heard the umbrella hit the metal bar, followed by an uncustomary exclamation of surprise as its owner struggled to regain their calm demeanour.

"Really brother mine, there are more effective ways to prevent me from entering the apartment than this flimsy contraption."

John entered from the kitchen, small bowl in hand, to find Mycroft Holmes stepping over the stair gate with a look of disdain.

"It is hardly effective."

"Really Mycroft, have you never seen a stair gate before?" he asked incredulously as he scooped up Rosie from the floor and slipped her into the high chair with practiced ease. The blank look on the government official's face warranted further explanation. "It's to keep Rosie from slipping from the room and falling down the stairs."

"And if it did keep you out," Sherlock added. "Then that would be a most satisfactory bonus."

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Sticker.


	4. Sticker

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the representation of a stegosaurus.

He had left the mind palace last week to discover a certain little girl had climbed onto his shoulders, hands merrily tugging at his hair. It was only after disengaging her from his head and placing her on his lap that he had discovered that she had adorned his shirt with a number of prehistoric animal stickers.

And it would appear that he had been remiss in disposing of one. Peeling it from his shirt, he marvelled that it had managed to survive the dry cleaning. It was quite an impressive adhesive.

 _Adhesive_...

"Gerrard! Arrest the seamstress's nephew!"

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Finding Nemo.


	5. Finding Nemo

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

"But John, the _Finding Nemo_ plaster has greater padding for effective skin healing," protested Sherlock.

"Nemo!" agreed Rosie from her position on his lap.

The doctor barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned to the first aid box and swapped the plain brown plaster for a bright blue, clown fish-adorned one. Peeling the plastic off, he wrapped it around the proffered finger.

"Kiss boo boo!" demanded his daughter once he was done.

He did roll his eyes as he leaned forward to kiss the boo boo better.

"See John," said Sherlock happily as he stood up and waved his finger in the air. "It feels better already!"

John shook his head and couldn't stop the grin that escaped as he watched the pair of them disappear, no doubt to cause more trouble that would require medical attention.

Sometimes he swore he had two children, not just the one!

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Harry.


	6. Harry

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

John came down the stairs slipping on his coat, balancing the baby bag in one hand. Opening the door to 221B, he froze instantly at the sight of the figure seated on his doorstep.

He heard the familiar footfall on the stairs behind him as said person rose unsteadily to their feet, bottle in hand. He knew the instant his partner was at his back, silently and swiftly assessing the situation.

"Sherlock." The tone brooked no argument. "Take Rosie back upstairs."

For once the world's only consulting detective did as he was told. John's gaze never shifted as he heard Sherlock ascend the stairs. It was only when they were out of earshot that he spoke.

"Hello Harry."

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ School Play.


	7. School play

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

A longer one shot for your reading pleasure!

* * *

No one in their sane mind would choose to sit through a school play. As Sherlock fidgeted in the uncomfortable plastic chair, he decided that he was not of sane mind.

Why he'd let John talk him into coming was beyond him. Determined to distract himself from complete and utter boredom, he began do deduce. "The Deputy Head is sleeping with the nursery teacher. That teacher will resign at 1:22pm on Friday in three weeks. And look at those ears, that child is not…"

"Be quiet," an irate voice came from behind.

Well aware of his partner's propensity to have the last word, John placed his hand on his upper thigh with a light squeeze. "Sherlock," he said warningly.

He then proceeded to ignore the sulking man beside him, arms crossed over his chest, as the Headmaster stood up to the microphone to announce the Spring Show.

The third class had finished their performance when John sensed Sherlock tapping his fingers on his leg. It took him a few seconds to realise that he was tapping out repeated Morse Code.

-..

D

..-

U

.-..

L

.-..

L

-..

D

..-

U

.-..

John smothered a grin as he let him continue. At least he wasn't annoying anyone.

* * *

Cake in hand, John spared a glance at the world's only consulting detective with affection as he stood aside, nose buried deep in his phone. He couldn't begrudge him some intellectual stimulation devoid of human interaction after sitting through almost two hours of that.

"So, which one is yours?"

Startled, John turned to the new voice at his right. "Sorry?"

The woman before him smiled coyly as she indicated toward the now vacant stage. "Which one was yours?"

"Ah." He smiled proudly. "The little bee."

The woman's face was genuinely appreciative as she placed a hand in his arm. "That was an impressive costume. Where on earth did you find it?"

"Well actually it was made by my - " He never finished the sentence as a familiar voice cried out. "Daddy!"

He turned to see his daughter sprinting across the room. John smiled softly as Sherlock instantly slipped his phone into his pocket mid-text and swept his daughter up into his arms. "Rosie bee!"

"Did you see my costume?"

"Yes I did."

He knew he was grinning like an idiot watching their interaction before remembering that he had been in a conversation. "Sorry, what..."

The woman was already backing away. "I should go and find my own little ones."

John watched her departure with confusion before shaking his head and turning. Sherlock was already approaching him, transferring the chatty Rosie into his arms with ease as he filched the cake, leaning in with a low voice. "Recently divorced and operating on the assumption that you are a lonely widow and thus easy target."

"Oh." John paused a moment to press a kiss to his daughter's head. "Let's go home shall we?"

"Party!" bounced Rosie excitedly.

John grinned as Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes at the prospect of yet more people.

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_ Comfort.


	8. Comfort

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and only borrowed these characters for a little while.

* * *

The World's Only Consulting Detective watched the scene from the corner of his eye.

An overtired toddler was being soothed by her father. Whilst this behaviour was one he had seen before, he had never paid it any great attention before.

Rosie's head rested on John's chest. Eyes shuttered close as her father ran a gentle hand through her hair. Equal pressure applied constantly throughout. Cries petered out. Even breathing. Outcome: slumber, seemingly due to soothing effect of motion and closeness.

Deduction: further experimentation required.

* * *

Later that night, Rosie abed, he abruptly rose from his seat and marched to the sofa where John sat, seating himself heavily.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" asked John mildly at the invasion of his personal space, looking up from his reading.

"An experiment."

John watched with amusement as Sherlock rearranged his long limbs into the tight shared space, plonking his head on the doctor's chest. When he failed to move and offered no further explanation, John rolled his eyes and picked up his journal once again.

Several minutes passed before a voice shattered the silence.

"Put your hand in my hair like you do with Rosie."

John blinked. "Okayyy."

Gingerly slipping his fingers into the soft hair, he slowly carded them through his curls. He felt the body of the detective instantly melt against him.

"It is a most effective method of calming down oneself," Sherlock remarked before shutting his eyes.

John didn't bother responding as he picked up his paper once again.

Apparently this was going to be normal now.

* * *

 _Next Chapter:_...


End file.
